#originalhorror

[CLASSIFICATION: CREEPYPASTA] [LOG ID: TML-THE-13TH-STEP-07] [STATUS: ARCHIVE_DECRYPTION_IN_PROGRESS // PART 7 OF 11] [SUBJECT: SURGICAL INTERVENTION]

I saw the prompt from @alexprompts and just had to try it! I realize it might be a little late though (I didn’t realize how far ahead AEST time was of EST) but here it is anyway!

The water is cold. It sloshes around my ankles as two men drag me towards the boat. I know them both- we worked at the annual Christmas festival together. Now if they look at me, they look at me with disgust. To them, I’m less than one of the help. Now, I’m one of the accused. My trial is today-the final test to see if I’m a witch. Today is the day I’m going to die. The test is simple: if you sink, you’re innocent. If you float, you’re guilty. Few survive the first of the tests. I know of no one who’s survived the final trial. I’m not sure anyone would want to.

They’ve bound my wrists with thick rope normally used on slaves that get out of hand. I wouldn’t have fought them. Where would I run? There’s nowhere for accused witches to hide. By sundown, news of an escaped witch will have reached the next couple of towns over.

I feel everyone’s stares on me. A crowd has gathered at the banks of the lake just to see me drown. The two men throw me into the boat and start rowing towards the center of the lake. I try to remember the humid air that comes with all sunny days- the feel of the rough wood beneath me.I try to remember the warm looks people greeted me with before I became accused. They were so different from the maniac smiles I get now. Maybe once I die, people will regret what they did. I’ll never find out. There are no windows in hell.

They tie the weights to my legs first, then to my arms. My skin burns under all the rope. I don’t want to die. Not like this. But what other choice do I have?

I don’t expect them to push me overboard so soon. I shut my mouth, trying not to breath in more water than air. I can’t die. Not like this. I’ll be forgotten in a week. My body will be left as food for the fish, the leftovers decaying under a thick blanket of waves. I won’t even get a proper burial. The image of my broken body scalds my brain.

I’m losing air. Water presses at my lungs- my eyes. I wave my arms behind my back but they’re weighted down. If only I could untie the ropes. I can. My hands can still move. I grab at the knot, picking with my fingernails. It doesn’t budge. Please God help me now. He knows I’m innocent. He has to help- the knot loosens. My heart jumps, squeezing my lungs. Seconds pass. I shrug the weights off my arms. I’m almost to the bottom of the lake now. My hands claw at the rope that binds my feet. I don’t have much time.

My vision is edging black when the rope gives and falls off. Air. I need air. My legs thrash in the water, pushing me away from the bottom. My hands grab at nothing. My lungs are burning when I break the surface, coughing up water.

I live alone. That’s the first thing you need to understand.

I bought this house two years ago after my divorce. Three bedrooms, two baths. Too much space for one person, but the price was good and I figured I’d grow into it. Maybe rescue a dog. Maybe start over.

That never happened.

I never used the guest room. Never had visitors. Still, I always kept the door shut—not locked, just shut. Habit, I guess. One less room to clean.

Then three weeks ago, I noticed the door was open when I came home from work.

I figured I must’ve left it that way, or maybe the cleaning lady did. I don’t know. I closed it again. Thought nothing of it.

Then it happened again. And again.

The door would be ajar when I got home. Just slightly. A few inches. Enough to notice.

So I started locking it. Bought a little latch from Home Depot. Nothing fancy.

That night, I woke up at 2:13 a.m. to the sound of the door creaking open.

I sleep with my door open—it’s a habit I’ve had since childhood. But the sound wasn’t from my door.

I sat up in bed, heart hammering. The sound came again—slow, groaning, deliberate.

I crept into the hallway. It was pitch black. I hadn’t turned on a light.

The guest room door was wide open.

The lock was broken—snapped clean off.

Inside, the room was empty. No furniture, nothing. Just bare walls and a single window facing the backyard.

I should’ve called the police then.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I boarded the door shut from the outside the next day. Nailed a wooden slab across it. Tight.

That night, at 2:13 a.m., I woke again.

There was breathing in my hallway.

Slow. Deep. Wet.

I stayed still. I didn’t even breathe. And it went away after a few minutes.

I told myself I was imagining it. Maybe sleep paralysis. Maybe a dream.

But things escalated.

I started finding muddy footprints in the kitchen. Damp handprints on the bathroom mirror. My toothbrush was always wet when I woke up.

So I set up a camera. Just one. Facing the guest room door. Motion activated.

It recorded only once.

The footage is 17 seconds long. In it, at 2:13 a.m., the wooden board on the door peels off from the inside. Like something pushed it.

Then a figure steps out.

I can't describe it. The camera caught only shadows—tall, thin, with movements that looked wrong. Like it didn’t understand how legs worked.

It stood in the hallway for three minutes, unmoving.

Then it turned and looked directly at the camera.

And smiled.

The camera shut off. No more footage.

I tried to leave. Packed a bag, got in my car.

The engine wouldn’t start. It wouldn’t even turn over. And my phone was dead. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get a signal. Even landlines stopped working.

That was last week.

Now, every night at 2:13 a.m., I hear it walking the hallway.

It stops at my door. Stays there for hours.

Sometimes I hear it whisper my name. Not quite right. Like it’s practicing.

I haven’t slept in four days.

I think it lives here now.

Chapter 1: The Arrival

The rain drummed against Sayaka Komori's bedroom window with an intensity that seemed almost alive. At seventeen, she had grown accustomed to the perpetual drizzle that plagued their Tokyo suburb, but tonight felt different. Tonight, the darkness beyond her glass seemed to pulse with an unnatural rhythm.

Sayaka pressed her nose against the cold window, watching the moving truck navigate the narrow street below. Someone was moving into the house next door—the house that had stood empty for three years, ever since old Mr. Yamamoto had died in his sleep. The neighbors whispered that he had been found weeks later, his face frozen in an expression of pure terror.

Through the curtain of rain, Sayaka glimpsed a woman emerging from the passenger seat. Tall and unnaturally pale, she moved with an odd, flowing gait that reminded Sayaka of kelp swaying in deep ocean currents. The woman's long black hair hung like a veil, obscuring her face as she glided toward the front door.

For a moment, the woman stopped and slowly turned her head upward. Even through the rain and darkness, Sayaka felt the weight of her gaze—cold, penetrating, and somehow hungry. The woman's lips curved into what might have been a smile before she disappeared into the shadows of the doorway.

Sayaka pulled back from the window, her heart racing for reasons she couldn't explain.

Chapter 2: First Contact

Three days later, Sayaka encountered her new neighbor while hurrying home from school. The woman stood motionless beside the rusted mailbox, her pale fingers tracing patterns on its surface that seemed to leave dark smudges behind.

"You must be Sayaka," the woman said without looking up. Her voice carried an odd echo, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a well. "I am Maiko Takashiro."

"How do you know my name?" Sayaka asked, clutching her school bag tighter.

Maiko finally lifted her head, and Sayaka gasped. The woman's eyes were completely black—not just the pupils, but the entire visible surface, like two pools of ink. When she smiled, her teeth seemed too sharp, too numerous.

"Neighbors should know each other, shouldn't they?" Maiko's voice seemed to come from multiple directions at once. "Perhaps you'd like to visit sometime. I have such interesting things to show you."

Before Sayaka could respond, Maiko had already turned away, gliding toward her house with that same unsettling movement. As she walked, Sayaka noticed that Maiko cast no reflection in the puddles she passed through.

That night, Sayaka's dreams were filled with drowning sensations and the sound of something wet dragging across her bedroom floor.

Chapter 3: The Invitation

The visits began innocuously enough. Maiko would appear at Sayaka's door each evening after sunset, always bearing strange gifts—dried flowers that smelled of low tide, smooth stones that felt warm to the touch, and old photographs that showed places Sayaka had never seen but somehow recognized.

"My grandmother's collection," Maiko would explain, her black eyes never blinking. "She traveled to many... distant places."

Sayaka found herself drawn to these visits despite the growing unease that settled in her stomach like ice water. There was something mesmerizing about Maiko's presence, something that made the ordinary world seem gray and lifeless by comparison.

During their conversations, Maiko would sit unnaturally still, her head tilted at angles that seemed to defy human anatomy. She spoke of things that made no sense—cities beneath the ocean, forests that grew downward into the earth, and people who had learned to live without shadows.

"You have such potential, Sayaka," Maiko whispered one evening, her cold fingers brushing against Sayaka's hand. "You could see such wonders if you truly opened your eyes."

When Maiko touched her, Sayaka felt something shift inside her mind, like doors opening in rooms she didn't know existed. The sensation was terrifying and exhilarating at once.

Chapter 4: The Transformation

As the weeks passed, Sayaka began to change. Her classmates noticed it first—how she would stare at empty spaces in the hallway, responding to voices only she could hear. Her skin grew pale, taking on a translucent quality that made her veins visible beneath the surface like dark rivers.

She stopped eating regular food, finding it tasteless and repulsive. Instead, she craved things that shouldn't be consumed—dirt from the cemetery behind the school, water from stagnant ponds, and flowers that bloomed only in shadow. These strange appetites were satisfied during her increasingly frequent visits to Maiko's house.

Maiko's home was unlike any other. The interior seemed to exist in perpetual twilight, with corners that stretched deeper than they should and mirrors that reflected rooms that didn't exist. Photographs lined the walls—thousands of them, showing the same pale faces across different time periods, all with those same impossible black eyes.

"My family," Maiko explained, her voice now seeming to come from inside Sayaka's own head. "We have been waiting so long for someone like you."

In the basement, Maiko showed Sayaka wonders that human minds weren't meant to process. Pools of liquid shadow that contained glimpses of other worlds, plants that grew from nothing and fed on emotion, and books written in languages that hurt to read but somehow conveyed meaning directly into the reader's soul.

Chapter 5: The Revelation

The truth came to Sayaka in fragments, like pieces of a nightmare slowly reassembling themselves. Maiko wasn't human—had never been human. She was something far older, something that fed on the boundary between the living and the dead, between the real and the imagined.

The house itself was a trap, a spider's web designed to catch young minds at their most vulnerable. Every girl who had lived in Sayaka's room before her had eventually disappeared, their essence absorbed into Maiko's ever-growing collection of shadows.

"You understand now," Maiko said, her form beginning to shift and blur around the edges. "You feel it, don't you? The pull toward something greater than this small, ordinary life."

Sayaka did feel it—a terrible yearning to let go of her human form and join the darkness that called to her from every corner of Maiko's house. Part of her wanted nothing more than to surrender, to become another photograph on the wall, another voice in the chorus that sang in frequencies only Maiko could hear.

But another part of her, the part that still remembered sunlight and laughter and the taste of her mother's cooking, fought back with desperate fury.

Chapter 6: The Escape

The battle for Sayaka's soul took place not in the physical world, but in the spaces between thoughts, in the pause between heartbeats. Maiko's influence had grown strong, threading through Sayaka's mind like dark ivy, but it wasn't complete.

Using every ounce of will she possessed, Sayaka began to sever the connections that bound her to the shadow realm. Each cut felt like tearing away part of herself, leaving wounds that might never fully heal.

Maiko's true form revealed itself then—not the elegant woman who had first appeared at the mailbox, but something vast and hungry, with too many limbs and eyes that opened like flowers in places where eyes should never be.

"You cannot escape," the thing that had been Maiko hissed with voices stolen from a hundred disappeared girls. "You have seen too much, tasted too deeply. You belong to us now."

But Sayaka had one advantage her predecessors had lacked. Her fear, instead of paralyzing her, had transformed into rage—rage at being manipulated, at nearly losing herself to something that saw her as nothing more than food.

She ran through the house as it began to collapse around her, its impossible geometry folding in on itself like origami made of nightmare. The photographs on the walls screamed as she passed, their subjects reaching out with inky fingers to drag her back into the darkness.

Sayaka burst through the front door just as the sun began to rise, the first light she had seen in weeks that wasn't filtered through Maiko's influence. Behind her, the house let out a sound like the ocean crying, then fell silent.

Epilogue: The Aftermath

The house next door stood empty again, its windows boarded up and a "condemned" sign hanging from the front gate. The authorities found nothing inside but ordinary rooms filled with ordinary dust, though several investigators reported feeling "profoundly unsettled" during their examination.

Sayaka never spoke of what had happened, knowing that no one would believe her. But the experience left its mark. She could see things now that others couldn't—shadows that moved independently of their casters, reflections that showed different faces than the people casting them, and doorways that led to places that shouldn't exist.

Sometimes, late at night, she would hear Maiko's voice carried on the wind, promising that she would return, that the connection between them could never be truly severed. Sayaka had escaped, but she had not emerged unchanged.

She kept her curtains drawn and her doors locked, and she never, ever looked too long into mirrors after dark. Because she knew that somewhere in the space between worlds, something was still waiting for her, patient as the tide, hungry as the grave.